


Will.

by rickyling



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Gen, M/M, Past Child Abuse, can read it as platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6658282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickyling/pseuds/rickyling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what (should have) happened after that morning by the car, after the claimers, when they discovered a relief so strong it could only come from knowing the other was alive</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will.

_“You're my brother.”_

  
The words stay on Daryl’s mind and tingle on Rick’s tongue for a long time, even when Michonne calls out a quiet good morning from the car. Briefly, Rick wondered if she heard their exchange, but when Daryl struggled to stand, using the car as support, the thought left his mind. The archer’s arm went fleetingly around his ribs and then ripped away, like he was trying to hide the action.

  
“You okay?” Rick asked, and gets only a glare in return. Rick turned to Michonne, who was already watching him with concern. With a nod from her, he decided his next course of action. “Daryl.”

 

Daryl didn’t look up from gathering their belongings. “What.”

  
“C’mon, let's go bind those ribs.” Rick didn’t wait for Daryl to reply before he started walking off the road and into the woods opposite the trees the Claimers came from. There was a moment of stillness behind Rick, and he feared Daryl has completely ignored him, but then the ex-cop heard the sound of shuffling, uneven steps following him. If he didn’t already know Daryl’s presence as well as he did, he would’ve thought it were a Walker. Concern for the hunter filled Rick’s gut.

  
They walked in silence until they get to a creek. The bank is covered in soft, green grass and littered with fallen trees and stumps. Rick paused for a moment a few paces from the bubbling water, listening for any sounds of danger. The only things he heard were the water traveling over the rocks, some rodent or bird rummaging through the bushes on the opposite bank, and Daryl’s raspy breathing. Rick turned the first aid kit Michonne slipped to him before they left over in his hands, waiting a few moments to relish in the peacefulness before turning to Daryl.

  
The other man was standing a few yards away from Rick, his arm wrapped around his abdomen and a look of pain on his face. While his heart ached for Daryl, Rick couldn’t help the flower of warmth blooming in his chest with the knowledge that Daryl trusted him enough to be this vulnerable around him. Rick took a cautious step closer to him, and when Daryl didn’t flinch, growl, or take a matching step backward, he crossed the remaining distance until they were toe to toe.

  
“Take this off,” Rick breathed, tugging on Daryl’s leather vest. The other man visibly tensed and let out a sharp exhale, but hesitantly did as Rick asked. First, the leather fell to the ground, then Rick was helping Daryl peel off his button up, until that too pooled to the ground at their feet. Rick sucked in a breath and took a step back.

  
Daryl’s abs, that Rick last remembers being smooth and dusted with hair, were a Picasso of colors. Blues, purples, greens marred his skin, from right above the waistband of his jeans to his pecks. To make matters worse, Daryl was breathing shallow and fast in fear, little gasps of pain escaping his mouth with each rise and fall of his battered chest. Rick immediately fell to his knees, and without taking his eyes off Daryl’s bruises, went rummaging through the first aid kit until his fingers brushed gauze.

  
“Back a’me ain’t much better,” Daryl said, forcing out a dry chuckle. Rick peeled his gaze from Daryl’s abs to his blue eyes, clouded with pain and sadness and fear. Rick let out a shuddering breath and set to work binding his friend’s ribs in silence.

  
Rick worked the bandages around Daryl’s back, his hand brushing scar tissue. Daryl stiffened under his touch but relaxed when he moved on without saying a word. For a few minutes, Rick worked in silence apart from Daryl’s occasional whimpers of pain.

  
“I don't even know your dad’s name,” Rick said softly when his hand got caught on a particularly brutal scar. “But I wanna kill him.”

  
Daryl let out a huff of air that, under different circumstances, could've been a laugh. “He ain't worth it, never was.”

  
Rick nodded. “I meant what I said, you know.” Rick looked up to lock eyes with Daryl again. “You _are_ my brother, like Shane.”

  
“I ain't like Shane,” Daryl growled low. “I wouldn't never do t’you what he did.”

  
Rick smiled sadly up at the archer. “I know, I know.” Daryl grumbled inaudibly, then sucked in a breath when Rick tightened the gauze just the slightest. “He was a good man, Shane.” Rick continued, voice quiet with nostalgia. “Not much towards the end there, but before. One of the best.”  
“I could tell.”

  
Rick nodded and sighed, picking up Daryl’s shirt and vest and rising to his feet. He helped Daryl into his clothes, noting with a spark of hope how it seemed easier now.  
“That better?” Rick asked, retrieving the first aid kid.

  
“Yeah,” Daryl grunted, his hand ghosting over his abdomen. “A bit.” After a moment of silence, and a soft smile from Rick, Daryl mumbled: “Thank you.”

  
“Anytime, Daryl.” Rick brushed past the hunter, back towards the road and his son.

  
“Wait.”

  
Rick stopped and turned in confusion, only to find Daryl hunched over the creek, soaking his red rag through. The man looked over his shoulder expectedly at Rick, only turning back to the water when he walked towards him. Rick sat on a stump close to Daryl, yawning into his hand; dried blood on Rick's face pulled painfully at his skin, and he realized what Daryl was doing.

  
Rough, calloused hands gently cupped Rick’s jaw. Daryl shifted so he was crouched between Rick’s knees, and went to work dragging the rag through his beard, over his lips, under his eyes. Rick sighed involuntarily into the fabric, the touch strangely domestic and comforting coming from the reserved hunter. Halfway through, Daryl washed the rag off in the water, and both men watched, slightly transfixed, as the water ran red. Daryl swiped his tongue over his lips and turned back to Rick, eyes unfocused until the last of the blood was cleaned from the other man’s face.

  
“Thank you,” Rick echoed. Daryl wrung out his rag and squeezed Rick’s knee, a silent _anything for you._

  
Rick stood up first and offered a hand to Daryl, one the archer took with zero hesitation. He grunted quietly in pain and glared down at his ribs, but he fell into step beside Rick evenly and without complaint. They walked side by side until the edge of the trees when Daryl stopped Rick with a tug on his forearm.

  
“Will.”

  
Rick blinked in confusion. “What?”

  
Daryl smiled softly. “Will. That was my father’s name.”

  
Rick looked at Daryl for a few moments before laughing quietly. Daryl chuckled too, dry and lacking humor. They walked back to the road, side by side, ready to face whatever was at the end of the line.

**Author's Note:**

> i really miss rickyl


End file.
